Fall From Grace
by sparky8me2
Summary: Post-trilogy, AU-ly.There's a new evil lurking about, readying an army of orcs created from elves. Just how long can one elf survive in the darkness? Rated PG13 for violence and blatant elf-abuse. Beginning the editting process, 2nd chapter finished
1. Into Darkness

Fall From Grace

Disclaimer: Most of these people belong to Tolkien, except for those who don't (Tadrien and Bagbag are mine and I don't think anyone else would want them). I'm not making any money from this now or ever, and there's probably no point in suing me as I have no money (once again, now or ever). :)

A/N: This would be the beginning of the edited version to correct such things as time issues and explain a few extras that appears in later chapters. You can expect no further interruptions with dedications and disclaimers and author's notes and the like. I'm going to leave the other chapters up while I'm doing this, but they probably won't make as much sense.

For Sarah, who's been loaning me her Legolas for this story, even though it would seem I now have my own firmly lodged in my mind.  


Chapter One

Into Darkness

  
Orcs. An entire army's worth of twisted creatures of darkness with thick greenish skin stood at attention, awaiting their orders. They knew very well what was coming, and many fidgeted with the knowledge that soon they would be set loose to kill and destroy anything and everything in their paths.  
  
A tall figure, its face hidden by a thick, black cloak studied his creations. Ghastly white hands with abnormally long fingers pointed at one of the large evil-looking figures in the first rank. "You..." a voice rasped darkly, cold and filled with hatred. "You.... Bring me... Elves. For our time... grows near..."  
  
A massive cry rose from the assembled. Grunts and shouts of approval as many of them raised their swords and bows, eager to move out. Eager to do their master's bidding and maim or kill anyone or anything that would dare to stand in their way. As the cloaked one moved aside to give them way, they charged forth, longing to fulfill their destiny as a means to spread as much terror as they could.

***

News of strange disappearances had spread quickly to Bree, and indeed, to other parts of Middle Earth as well. Orcs roaming the forests, especially near Mirkwood in numbers as great as they had during the rise of Sauron. The victims were Elven and no distinction had been made other than that. As far as any knew, they were merely taken. For there were no corpses, save the Orcs. In fact, the only other signs that remained were Elven weaponry and trampled plantlife.

Two unlikely travelling companions found themselves in the inn, taking their fill of food and ale. The first, a Man, six feet tall, with black hair flecked with grey who carried a air of nobility about him. At one time, he would have been easily recognized by the regulars of this place, as a ranger. An evil looking man half hidden in dark cloaks and shadows with tangled locks of greasy black hair. Those who knew him, though, knew him to be far from evil and to be very fair.

His Dwarven companion stood at four and a half feet. A short, stocky fellow, stout of heart, with long brown hair that flowed from under his helm and a beard and moustache to match. His skin was rough and his hands were calloused, characteristic of years of hard work. He studied the Man for a long moment. "We are making good time, I believe, Aragorn."

He considered that for a time and took a long drink from his mug. "We are, indeed, Gimli. We should be able to reach Mirkwood in three, perhaps four, days."

The Dwarf nodded. "Good. The sooner we find who's responsible for this and put a stop to it, the better for all parties concerned."

"Very true," Aragorn replied. He drained the remaining contents of his mug and rose from his chair. "It would be best to get some sleep while we can. We have a full day ahead of tomorrow and I would like to leave this place at dawn." He clapped Gimli on the shoulder and bade him good night before retiring to their rented room upstairs.

  
****  
  
Swiftly and gracefully, a tall figure with long, flowing blonde hair swept through the moonlit forest without so much as a backwards glance. He had no need of eyesight to tell him what was pursuing him, nor, although still out of sight, how quickly they were gaining on him. He could feel it. As though cold evil itself was directly on his heels.  
  
Scanning ahead for something that might provide him with a bit of shelter, he ducked behind several large moss-covered boulders. It wasn't much and he knew very well it wouldn't hide him from his enemies, but it was better than nothing. At least now he had a point from which to make a stand. He couldn't very well run forever, at any rate.  
  
He glanced upwards, towards the top of a hill which boasted many more smooth stones that jutted out haphazardly in all directions. Plenty of places to hide, but he dared not stir from where he was, for just down the trodden path that shone under the full moon and twinkling stars, he could see a horde of stocky, green-grey creatures pour out from the underbrush. He was all too aware that they had tried, and thankfully, failed, to cut him off.  
  
"Yrch..." he murmured the Elvish word for orc under his breath, tucking a stray lock of fair hair behind one pointed ear. Not hesitating a moment longer, the elf took the bow from his back, nocked an arrow and let it fly, striking the nearest in the hollow of the throat. The other orcs howled and shouted terribly, shaking their swords and spears that gleamed in the darkness as their own archers loosed arrows that mostly riccocheted harmlessly off the rocks.  
  
He peered out from his hiding spot long enough to let another arrow sing through the air to its target and caught sight of the numbers he found himself confronted with. There was still more than thirty from what he could tell, even with the two he had already dispatched. He looked out, and shot again, catching a third orc in the chest, though he barely managed to duck back under the cover of stone before more arrows sailed gracefully towards him, nearly silent, but deadly projectiles.  
  
The Elf wouldn't have a chance to hold them off further with his bow- they were already swarming over and around the rocks. He flung aside his usual weapon of choice and drew a long white knife, fighting desperately against an enemy so seemingly innumerable he could scarcely tell where one Orc ended and another began. For his credit, however, he did manage to take out several more, before he felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull from the hilt of a sword caused to tumble forward, the legs of his attackers blurring as darkness fell over him. 


	2. Many A Long Journey

Fall From Grace

  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Many A Long Journey  
  
  
  
Deep underground, in what appeared to be a man-made cavern, the cloaked figure stood before a small, dark, filthy cell that currently housed a large cocoon that appeared to be composed of yellow-green mucus guarded by two large Orcs. He smiled under the hood, his face completely hidden except for the twisted shape of his mouth, as it started to shift and tremble, the being inside regaining consciousness and fighting against the oppressive confinement.  
  
The Orcs on either side began tearing at the incasement, working from the outside to reach their new companion as it worked from within. Soon, their efforts were rewarded and a third Orc, slimy and shaking with its efforts, was produced. After a moment, looking around in utter confusion, it howled with rage and an excruiationg pain that was both physical and emotional. It lunged, suddenly, at the figure, who merely chuckled as the two restrained it.  
  
"Bestow upon this one..." he breathed, turning to leave. "The name of Bagbag...."  
  
****  
  
Aragorn and Gimli journeyed that very same path where the Elf had been attacked in previous nights. The telltale verifications of the rumours they had heard made themselves frighteningly clear in the trampled and destroyed plantlife that had been left in the wake of the Orcish army.  
  
Aragorn was the first to spot the grisly scene of dead and already decaying Orcs and the scattered Orcish and Elven arrows. "Gimli, come and see this!"  
  
Gimli swiftly made his way over without hesitation. He was quicker than a casual observer might think for one so small, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell already wafting from the carrion. He studied the arrows for several long moments, before stepping away and drawing a deep breath. "Those are Elven, I'd wager."  
  
He wandered away as the Human examined the scene with a ranger's practiced eye, towards the rocks, where something caught his eye, partially obscured from view by dead leaves and needles. He knelt down and brushed the debris away, revealing a slightly damaged bow that, to him, was startlingly familiar. Frowning, he called out to his companion. "Aragorn! I've found something!" He waited for his friend to come over before speaking. "Would you not say that this looks very much like the bow that the Lady of the Galadhrim had given Legolas upon our departure from Lothlorien?"  
  
Aragorn nodded, studying the bow with a scrutinizing eye. "Indeed it does, however, it is possible that Legolas is not the only Elf in posession of such a weapon...." He glanced around to lay his eyes upon more Orc bodies and something gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the trees. He moved to take a closer look when he realized that it was a long knife, very similar to the one he had often seen the Elven member of the Fellowship fight with on their quest. He paused for a long moment, taking this new evidence into consideration. Whomever these weapons belonged to- Legolas or otherwise, he realized, was very likely in a great deal of trouble. Were they not already dead. He nodded again, sharply, as though coming to a decision. "Come. We shall continue to follow their trail."   
  
Gimli, however, hadn't a chance to respond, for several Elves had stepped into sight, armed with swords. "Who are you?" One of them asked in Westron as he pushed his way forward. He looked quite young- no more than twenty-two, were he a man- with long locks of light brown hair, much the colour of tanned deerskin.   
  
Aragorn held his hands up, palms outward, to show he meant no harm. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and this," he gestured to the dwarf, "is Gimli, son of Gloin. We have been tracking a group of Orcs through these woods."   
  
"Of the Nine? The Fellowship?" The Elf sounded incredulous, but relaxed considerably, and went as far as to resheath his weapon, gesturing for the others to do the same. "Legolas has spoken very highly of you." He glanced at the dwarf with an air of curiousity, "both of yo-" His eyes found the bow Gimli was holding. "May I have that for a moment?" He took the bow and turned it over in his hands, frowning. "Where did you find this?"   
  
"Over there," the short, bearded fellow replied, pointing at the ground a few feet away.   
  
The Elf murmured something to the others in Sindarin, and they fanned out, looking over the area carefully. "You must come with us to see King Thranduil," he said, switching back to Westron. He glanced at the bow, still clutched in his hands and frowned again. "We were sent to search these woods for Legolas, he was due to return several days ago from Rivendell, and under the circumstances..." he hesitated. "It is not my place to explain further. You shall have to wait and speak with the king."   
  
"What?!" Gimli snapped, turning an interesting shade of red. "The more time we waste _discussing_ is more time those great bloody brutes have to... do whatever it is they intend to do with him! We ought to go after them now! While the trail is still fresh!"   
  
Aragorn considered what his friend was saying for several long moments. Yes, it was important to start after those Orcs as soon as possible. On the other hand, however, it was also important to understand what they were dealing with. Thranduil might be able to clear that up. He sighed. "It will only take a few hours, Gimli, and the information we recieve could be invaluable. "We shall still be able to track them." He nodded to the Elf. "Let us go, then, quickly, for our time grows short."   
  
****   
  
The Elf came around slung over the shoulder of an Orc. He closed his eyes against the world around him, upside down and bouncing up and down with his captor's footsteps, and willed his throbbing head to stop pounding so. He recalled little, his mind still feeling frighteningly fuzzy, but he was aware of one overpowering desire. The desire to escape. He squirmed desperately against the Orc, who after a few moments let him slide down its back. He didn't have time to run, though, for it had already seized him roughly by the collar and dragged him to his feet. It sneered, shoving its nose in the Elf's face, "you awake. You walk, Elf."   
  
He wrinked his nose in disgust at the Orc's putrid breath and stared at it defiantly. "My name is Legolas," he replied coldly. He regretted it instantly, realizing it likely was not in his best interest to provide the enemy with information.   
  
"Don't care," the Orc snarled. It turned him around and, gripping the back of his neck, shoved him forward. "Almost there. Move."   
  
For the first time, he noticed his surroundings. They were drawing near to the foot of a group of foothills, a tall, imposing looking mountain looming in the background. He recognized the area as one he had long avoided for the darkness that lingered; the Iron Hills. There used to be a prison here, that was destroyed long ago, called Angband. One desperate thought remained prevelent in his mind. He had to escape. He glanced behind him to the trees. If he could just make it back into the forest... It wasn't far. About thirty yards or so. Thirty yards. Three Orcs. Maybe... Just maybe...   
  
Quite suddenly, Legolas kicked backwards as hard as he could, hitting the Orc holding him just about the knee and causing it to shout and let go of his neck. He took his chance while he could and bolted, running swiftly through the tall grass. The other Orcs scrambled after him and a backwards glance told him the orcs were still uncomfortably close, but he was nearly in the clear. Once in the safety of the forest, despite his earlier problems getting rid of them, he was certain he could make his escape.   
  
The Orcs had other plans, however, and one of them had managed to stay close enough to throw its club at the back of the Elf's head, striking him with a sickening thud and causing him to crumple to the ground.   
  
It scowled and kicked the unconscious form in the ribs, for good measure, before picking him up. "Stupid Elf," it snarled and started back towards the mountain. 


	3. Chapter 2

Fallen From Grace  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The journey to Amon Thranduil was quiet and, for all parties, an especially dragged out one. Finally, though, after several hours that felt like several days to all parties, they found themselves in the hall of the Elven King.  
  
Thranduil's fine features were creased with worry as he sat upon his carven throne. Perched upon his fair head was a crown of woodland flowers and slender fingers were tightly gripping an oaken staff. He peered at the party, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as they passed over Man and Dwarf. He turned to the elves and asked, "what news have you?"  
  
The same elf that had spoken to Gimli and Aragorn stepped forward, head bowed as he held out the bow he had identified as belonging to Legolas. "We bear sad tidings, Your Highness. It would appear that your son has been taken by the Orcs."  
  
He frowned deeply, and took the favoured, though now damaged, weapon. "That is indeed grave news... Who is this you have brought with you? Without so much as a blindfold to hide our location in these most dangerous times!"  
  
The young Elf winced under the king's glare. "My apologies..." he gestured grandly to the pair. "May I present to Your Highness, Aragorn son of Arathorn and Gimli son of Gloin. Of the Fellowship of the Ring."  
  
"Of the Nine Walkers," Thranduil added, thoughtfully. His gaze turned upon them. "My son has spoken of you." He scowled disapprovingly at the Dwarf. "Quite highly. What brings you through my forest?"  
  
Gimli returned the scowl defiantly, but Aragorn stepped in before he could speak. "There have been rumours of Orcs roaming these woods in greater numbers. Even of disappearances, such as that of Legolas. We have no desire other than to discover the reasons behind this and bring it to an end."  
  
Thranduil seemed to consider this, and after several long moments, he nodded sharply. "Very well. I shall allow you safe passage through this wood on the condition that Tadrien-" he gestured to the apparent party leader- "accompany you. I am certain he shall prove invaluable and I shall not have my people unrepresented in a matter that clearly concerns us."  
  
Aragorn bit his lip, considering his own choice of words carefully before speaking. "That may not be wise... To send an Elf against a force that clearly targets them-"  
  
The Elven King glared. "That is my only condition, and since my own son is the latest victim in all of this, I do not think it so much to ask!"  
  
The Man nodded. He understood the Elf's desire to protect the interests of his people, and other than the words from his now missing child, he knew nothing of them. "Very well. We shall agree to take Tadrien with us." He glanced at the young Elf and bowed his head respectfully at the king. "We shall depart imediately with your permission."  
  
His words placated the king, who seemed, currently, more like a deeply troubled parent. He nodded. "Very well. May Elbereth go with you."  
  
****  
  
Legolas regained consciousness, once again, upside down. This time, however, he was completely stationary. And in pain. His eyes flickered open and as he gazed around the darkened, underground, upside down, cell. He could make out crumbling stone walls surrounding him, and a large, heavy door in front of him.  
  
His head, as before, throbbed dully, and sharp pain radiated through his chest with every breath, as he became aware of the bite of cold iron encircling his ankles.  
  
The door opened and a hooded figure strode into the room, accompanied by a pair of Orcs, carrying clubs. "Well, well, well..." he rasped. "Legolas... Greenleaf, of... the Fellowship, so... I'm told... You shall make... a worthy addition... to my army..."  
  
The elf scowled, "I shall certainly not!" He declared defiantly.  
  
The figure laughed hoarsely and touched his cheek with a long, pale finger, sending a chill to Legolas's very soul. "Oh, you most... Certainly shall... They all fall... eventually... You are... no different..." He turned to the Orcs and took a sharp, hissing, breath. "Come fetch me... When it is... time..."  
  
The Orcs grinned cruelly and smacked their clubs against their hands as they closed in on their victim. "Fun..." One of them declared, suddenly lashing out and hitting Legolas in the stomach.  
  
He gasped as the blow caused him to curl upwards, clutching his abdomen painfully. "Cowards..." he hissed.  
  
The second Orc smirked. "Howl, elf!" It demanded, bringing his own weapon up to strike his back.  
  
Legolas fell back against the wall, clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut against the developing agony. "Never..." he snarled.  
  
One of the clubs landed on his left hand, accompanied by the gut-wrenching sound of crunching bone. He cried out, craddling the new injury against his chest. Yet another crack sent searing pain through one of his knees and he had to turn his head to keep the Orcs from seeing the tears of anguish shining in his eyes as he hollared.  
  
*Elbereth, help me...* he pleaded silently, giving a loud scream as he felt the bones in his cheek and nose give way under another heavy blow.  
  
The cloaked figure, meanwhile, smiled down the hall as he could hear the echoing tortured wails coming from the cells. 


	4. Chapter 3

Fall From Grace  
  
For Sarah, who's been loaning me her Legolas for this bit of fun. :)  
  
Chapter 3  
  
It had only taken several hours for Gimli, Aragorn and now, Tadrien, to prepare and leave Amon Thranduil and begin tracking the Orcs through the forests of Mirkwood.  
  
Hours, unfortunately, had rapidly turned to days with no clues as to where the army was headed, and likewise with no signs of where Legolas had been taken.  
  
Tadrien frowned as he bent down beside Aragorn to examine the latest trail they had been following. "Would they truly drag Legolas and the others with them? Surely if they had, we would have found some evidence of that by now! This is getting us nowhere!"  
  
Gimli snorted, "expected this to be easy, Elf?" He, too, had been suffering from ever thinning patience and he and Tadrien, it seemed, had spent more time bickering than not. "Perhaps we ought to send you out as bait!"  
  
"Enough!" Aragorn cried sharply, rising from where he had been examining the ground. "There is no evidence Legolas, nor any of the other missing elves, are still with the Orcs." He raised a silencing hand as Tadrien opened his mouth to speak. "However. There is no evidence of where they have been taken, and this is the only trail we have to follow. We shall merely have to trust it to lead us to the right place. These Orcs shall return to their place of origin eventually."  
  
Tadrien's eyes were alit with excitement and he spoke quickly once Aragorn had finished. "As much as I do not care to admit it, the Dwarf may have stumbled upon an excellent idea! If I make myself an easy target and allow the Orcs to take me prisoner, with the two of you watching, you shall have your trail straight to Legolas and the others!"  
  
"Fool!" Gimli cried. "And what is to say that you shall not be slain where you stand?!"  
  
"They've not slain any others, have they?" The Elf countered. "This is our best- nay, our only chance! For who knows when we shall reach our destination otherwise?" He turned to the Man beside them. "What say you, Aragorn?"  
  
"I say it is a rash and foolish plan," he replied, coldly, elicting a smile from Gimli. He paused, though, for a moment, and continued, "though it seems to be our one chance."  
  
It was Tadrien's turn to smile. "Tonight, then. Since Orcs only move under cover of darkness."  
  
****  
  
The manacles that had held Legolas upside down had been long since released, and the Elf was now curled on the dirt floor of his small cell. Blood and dirt matted long locks of fine blonde hair into impossible tangles, and streaked previously ivory skin that was now covered with hideous blue and purple bruises.  
  
He had tried several times to sing, to distract himself from his suffering, from the suffocating darkness that threatened to overwhelm him. Broken bones, however, caused pain to shoot through him every time he tried, though, which convinced him it likely wasn't worth the effort.  
  
Instead, he let songs, poems and stories he thought he had forgotten run through his mind. Anything that would even for a few fleeting moments let him escape his current predicament. It always returned, though. The startling knowledge that he was still there. Time had lost all meaning, in between violent beatings, losses of consciousness and worst of all, the hours after agonizing hours of laying sprawled in the dirt, surrounded by darkess, too badly hurt to so much as to consider moving. He no longer could tell if he had been there for days, weeks, or even months.  
  
The wooden door slammed open and there stood the same dark hooded figure that had first greeted him strode towards his prone form. His pale hand, with long wrinkled fingers and long nails reached down and grabbed Legolas by the hair, yanking his head upwards, and causing him to whimper as sharp pain and cold laced through his body.  
  
For the first time, he had managed a glimpse of the visage under the hood. The long face, like the hand, was nearly as white as snow. He had a cruel hooked nose, and frightening dark eyes, sunken deeply into his whithered features.  
  
"You..." he snarled, revealing pointed yellow teeth. "Resist... No use... Give in... Weeks have passed... No one will... help you..."  
  
"Who are you?" The Elf demanded. "What do you want from me?"  
  
Pale lips twisted into an evil smile. "All you need... to know... me as is... Master..." He shook his captive viciously and with surprising strength, making him yelp repeatedly.  
  
"Never!" He cried.  
  
The cloaked man made a disgusted sound and flung him across the cell and delivered a vicious kick to already broken ribs, elicting a howl of pain from Legolas. "You are just as difficult as the rest of your foolish kind! And you shall be no more difficult to break!"  
  
He raised a hand towards the prone form and chanted in a language he couldn't idenitify. The Elf realized what was happening, though, when a moment later searing agony shot through every fibre of his body.  
  
"Give in...!" He shouted over his victim's screams. "It shall stop... if you do...!" He scowled at the lack of response and allowed the spell to fade. "Stupid... boy," he hissed. "You shall... fall yet..." Another kick and another cry of pain and Legolas was left alone for the time being. 


	5. Chapter 4

Fall From Grace  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Twilight had fallen on Mirkwood Forest, the moon casting soft beams of light through tree branches. Two figures worked quickly amongst a group of rocks, while a smaller, stouter one kept watch nearby.  
  
Aragorn carefully slipped a large, flat rock over Tadrien's foot, which the elf had slipped into a crack between two larger rocks, to make it appear as though he had misstepped and was now quite firmly stuck. "That should do it. How does it feel?"  
  
He nodded. "It's alright. Best take cover, if those Orcs are within earshot, I shall get their attention."  
  
The Man nodded and patted his shoulder. "And we shall be right behind you." A beckoning wave brought Gimli over. "Everthing is in place."  
  
Gimli nodded and murmured a few words of luck to the Elf, before following Aragorn into the cover of thick undergrowth.  
  
Several moments later, Tadrien cupped his hands around his mouth and started hollering loudly for help.  
  
Hours had passed with cries echoing loudly thoughout the forest and Aragorn and Gimli were starting to question the logic in their plan. Afterall, the Orcs might not even be in the area. They were rewarded, though, when the Elf's yells stopped and they could hear a soft rustling nearby.  
  
He swallowed hesitantly and called out, "is someone out there?" Nerves were starting to get to him and he found himself questioning the wisdom of this grand plan.  
  
About half a dozen Orcs burst onto the path and sneered at the helpless young Elf. One notched an arrow and in thickly accented Westron said, "weapons down!"  
  
Tadrien nodded slowly and made a deliberate show of casting aside his short sword, bow and quiver. He held his hands up in a sign of surrender and did his best to look afraid. "Do not hurt me," he said quietly. "I shall cooperate. You've my word..."  
  
The Orcs smirked at each other and one moved swiftly to bind his arms behind his back, while a second pulled the rock away and jerked his foot free, snorting with laughter. "Stupid Elf!"  
  
He scowled and stumbled forward as he was pushed from behind with a growl of, "move!" Though he tried his best to remain passive as he walked. *Stupid Elves, indeed,* he thought. *Stupid Orcs is more like it.*  
  
Aragorn touched Gimli's shoulder as he watched the Orcs lead their newfound companion away. "Let's go." He whispered.  
  
****  
  
The young prince of Mirkwood had been unconscious again. This time, however, he awoke to a foul taste in his mouth and his throat feeling as though it were on fire. He choked, causing pain to shoot through his chest, as more liquid dribbled into his mouth, he turned his head and spat it out, vaguely aware of another presence in the room.  
  
"Poor Elf," a harsh voice muttered. A clumsy hand landed heavily on the Elf's head, causing him to wince. "Drink. Is good."  
  
Legolas pursed his lips and muttered. "Leave me..." He forced his eyes to focus and saw that it was an Orc bent over his prone and beaten form. "I do not wish for liquid..." That was a lie. He would've given nearly anything for a drink of fresh, clean, water. But whatever it was the Orc insisted he drink was certainly a far cry from thirst-quenching.  
  
The Orc frowned. "Was once pretty Elf, too."  
  
"I care not," he whispered. Another lie. It terrified him that this hideous beast could have once been one of his kinsmen. It terrified him further to think he might end up the same way. "Tell me..." he implored softly, the ache in his face was further aggravated with his attempts to speak, "why is this happening? Who is behind it? I must know..."  
  
The Orc shrugged its large shoulders. "Radagast take over Middle-Earth. Need Orcs. Elves make Orcs."  
  
He pondered that for several long moments. *Radagast... but he's supposed to be one of the Maia emissaries-*  
  
The door flung open and the wizard pointed an accusing finger at the Orc. "You've interfered... with my plans... for the last time!" The Orc hadn't time to reply, for it was flying through the air, and hit the wall outside the cell with the sickening snap of its neck breaking. He turned on Legolas and the Elf could tell, fear wrapping an icy hand around his heart, whatever had happened to the Maia who had lived near Mirkwood and loved nature one thing was clear. He was getting stronger.  
  
"I know who you are!" Legolas cried, trying to ignore the pain in his broken jaw.  
  
"Who I was... Does not matter..." Radagast rasped. "I... shall break you yet..." He chanted again in the strange tongue the Elf didn't recognize and again, Legolas screamed in agony as every nerve trembled with more pain than he had ever experienced in over two thousand years of exsistence. "You shall never see... The sun, your home... or your friends again!"  
  
The words seemed to have more impact on him than he thought possible. He tried to convince himself that the wizard was lying admist his howls of pain, but a great despair was settling over him. Perhaps this man was right. Perhaps he would falter here. No escape. No way out. He didn't want to be an Orc! A broken creature of evil and darkness, doomed to never be kissed by sweet sunlight again!  
  
He thought of the others that had been taken. Had they succumbed? A hissed affirmative echoed through his mind. "No..." he howled through his screams. Through mind-numbing agony that was sapping his strength and will. "Please..."  
  
"Please what?" Radagast sneered and let his chant quiet some. He wanted to be able to hear this.  
  
"Stop it..." the pain, much to Legolas's surprise, had started to fade. Very slightly. *Elbereth,* He pleaded in his mind, *I do not wish to turn into one of them... I cannot stand this any longer... just let me die...* "I beg of you..." the last words seemed to slip out of their own will, addressing his tormentor instead of the Ainur.  
  
The wizard smiled a dark an evil smile, and stopped the spell. "I knew you would... see things my way..."  
  
Tears rolled down the beaten Elf's cheeks, turning dried blood red again, as he wept bitterly at his own weakness. He turned away from his captor, who began to chant again as Elven tears hit the dirt floor.  
  
Black dirt turned a filthy yellow colour and began to bubble around him, thick disgusting looking muck that was starting to cover the now struggling Legolas and effectively suffocating his protests and denials.  
  
Radagast slipped from the cell, his prisoner now fully embedded in a sort of coccoon, and smirked at the Orcs standing guard. "It is done." 


End file.
